was he? Now, my memory’s not all that bad, but I seem to remember—”
“Revolting! Should have been smothered at birth. And I’ll be damned if I’ll ride all the way to Winchester in that monster’s company.”
Allene’s expression registered no shock; her double chins did not quiver, her kindly blue eyes did not widen. But the outrageous assertion that the unwelcome guest was ill featured made her look sharply at the beautiful woman whose slender fingers clenched tightly around the vessel, tipping its contents this way and that to catch the reflections on its surface. Allene had been Merielle’s complete family during the last few years and knew better than anyone every mood, every inflection of the voice, every look and every thought behind it. She had been present at Merielle’s birth and at every moment since, and the memory she spoke of was indeed not as bad as all that. So intact was it that she could pinpoint exactly the last occasion when Merielle had reacted so harshly to anyone. Then, at her sister’s wedding here in Canterbury when Merielle had been inescapably faced with the same man, her private response had been just as extravagantly savage and out of all proportion, Allene believed, to a man’s right to do the best he could with his own land.
With all the property from Merielle’s father and two husbands to bring in revenues enough to satisfy an army, Allene had never been able to understand why the thought of allowing some of it to return to its Yorkshire owner should be so very unthinkable. Some women might have been glad to shed the responsibility, especially since officials had to be paid to administer the properties even during the leanest years after the pestilence. Since that dreadful time, it was now becoming more and more difficult to find men to do the work efficiently, so why all the fuss about surrendering it?
Allene would have asked about the man’s particular offence this time, but Merielle’s next observation forestalled her, astounding the placid nurse by its immoderation. “He’s that child’s father. You know that, don’t you?”
Allene could not allow this to pass. Her voice sharpened in rebuke. “For pity’s sake, child! You cannot say so!”
Taking the beaker from Merielle’s hands, she drew her towards a stool whose top was padded with a tapestry carpet of flowers. “You cannot say that! You have no proof and you are speaking ill of your late sister, also. Now put the foolish thought from your head and replace it with something more charitable. Did Archbishop Islip’s Easter message have no meaning for you? You may not like your brother-in-law’s nephew, but you cannot lay a crime like that at his door.”
“Yes, I can, Allene. Do you remember the child’s hair?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well?”
“It’s dark. Look, plenty of infants start off dark and go lighter. Some do the opposite. Your hair was more the colour of new copper when you were born. Imagine what your poor papa would have made of that, if he’d had a mind to. You can’t pin Laurel’s child on the man by that alone, Merielle.”
“Her eyes are blue.”
“So are all new-born infants; you know that, surely? And why are you so keen to make him the father? Did Laurel ever say as much?”
“Hah!” Merielle stood, turning away from Allene’s good counsel. “You know how keen she was on him. I could have warned her off him, told her how he retaliated after I married Philippe, wanting to take the land back into his keeping. But she’d not have listened to a word against him, would she? Come, this talk is pointless. I have to find a way out of this situation.”
“You don’t have to go to Winchester, pet. Send a message instead to say that you’ve decided against it.”
Admit defeat and hear his laughter ringing in her ears? That was the last thing Merielle would do. “I do have to go, Allene. I need to hold that child again.”
“There are two whole days between now and Monday.”
“So, are we packed?”
“Of course.”
“Then we go tomorrow instead of waiting.”
“Alone?” The nurse pretended a soupçon of dismay.
“Hardly. There’ll be plenty of others going in the same direction.”
“Then why not find out from the guestmaster at St Augustine’s if any of his guests will be departing tomorrow and at what time? Then we’ll be sure of travelling in decent company. They’ll probably call here on the way to the Westgate. D’ye want me to see to it?”
“Aye, send one of the lads in livery so he doesn’t get ignored.”
“It’s not the ignoring that’ll be a problem, but how to get back through the city gate after sunset. Could you write a note?”
“Yes. Where’s that…that creature staying, I wonder?”
If Merielle had asked where that creature and his uncle had stayed last time they were in Canterbury for her sister’s wedding, Allene might have resorted to a diplomatic lie. But she had not, and when the messenger returned some time later to say that the guestmaster would be happy to direct a small escort of returning guests towards Mistress St Martin’s house on Palace Street early next morning, Allene felt that her suggestion had been an inspired one.
Chapter Two
It was one thing, Merielle muttered, to be allowed to make one’s own decisions, but to be pushed into a plan of action by another did not conform to the portrait of independence she had striven so hard to present to the world since her latest widowhood. Concealing her annoyance in a ferment of activity, she managed to make it appear as if the only factor to influence her unplanned haste was that, by travelling on a Saturday, she would be sure of a day’s rest at the abbey guesthouse on the Sabbath before the rush of Monday-morning pilgrims from Canterbury. And in trying to convince herself that all was in her favour, she managed to cloud the image of the ogre—her words—who had in fact precipitated the change.
Bonard of Lincoln was not so easy to convince of the rightness of the plan. He turned the red scarf over and over in his hands. “I would not have removed it had it not been for their insistence on my being able to protect you better, mistress,” he said. “Now I see that my gesture was all in vain. I may as well have ignored them.”
The illogicality of this did not escape Merielle, but she handed him one of the goblets of wine and prepared her mollifying words. “Dear Bonard, you are sadly mistaken. You are the only one of the household with enough authority to leave at such short notice and the only one I can trust to keep things going. There’s the new consignment of wools to be checked; I would have done that tomorrow morning. Then there are two more Flemings to interview first thing, and I can leave that to no one but you.”
“The tapestry-master can see them.”
“He’s a Fleming himself, isn’t he? He’d take them on even if they were one-eyed and fingerless.” She regretted the comparison, but it was too late to withdraw it. “I need an independent master who knows the business. You must be here. And besides that…” she took his arm and drew him down beside her on the wooden bench, “…I need you to explain to Master Gervase what’s happened. Go round to his lodgings tomorrow, Bonard. Will you do that for me?” She saw the shadow of pain that passed across his eyes, but ignored
